


we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. | <i>It was, apparently, a job that relied on the utmost discretion.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the short story "House of the Sleeping Beauties"/the 2012 movie _Sleeping Beauty_.

 

  
you live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.

\-- anaïs nin

 

 

 

It was, apparently, a job that relied on the utmost discretion.

Mutual trust, too, was one of the most important things, as the woman told her. Her name was Clara. There were very heavy penalties for any sort of breach of that trust. If she did not think she could adhere to that, the woman had told her, then there was no point in going any further with this interview. They were not looking for girls who couldn't abide by the strict rules.

 _I can do that_ , Emily assured her. _I'm not interested in being difficult._

Clara smiled and offered her another cup of tea. Emily accepted it; watched Clara pour it, took the warm cup with both hands. She didn't bother to add milk or sugar, sipping at it delicately. The bitter taste of the tea grounded her, kept her present in the moment. This whole thing was beginning to feel a bit like a dream, wholly unreal.

Everything in the room was so neat, all tucked nicely into place. It looked, to Emily, like a dollhouse; all of the furniture was so perfectly arranged about the room, the floor and carpet looked as though they'd never been walked on, the curtains were freshly pressed. Emily could imagine the maids in this room in the evening, fussing over the tiniest wrinkle, the littlest spot of dirt.

She had entered some sort of fairy-tale like world, Emily thought. She was not entirely certain of why she had been selected or what was going to happen; in fact, she imagined that in a few moments she would simply wake up, and find herself back in bed, the sheets tangled around her, her duvet kicked off to the side. But it wasn't a dream, she knew, just a different sort of world than she'd ever seen before.

As Clara told her, there were rules. She was not to ask the men any questions about themselves, and likewise, they were not to inquire about anything regarding her personal life. The men were allowed to kiss or touch her, and Emily could do the same to them, as long as both parties were consenting, but there was to be nothing vulgar or perverse. Any sort of sexual act was prohibited; this was not a brothel, if the men wanted more, they could seek it out elsewhere.

 _You will be working with other girls,_ Clara said. _Some of them will be more experienced than you._

Emily wanted to ask in what they were more experienced, but instead she simply nodded and took another sip of her tea before placing her cup and saucer back down on the little table between them. She was bored listening to Clara talk about the rules of the house, anxious to find out more about what sort of assignments she would be sent out on. It was, after all, exactly why she was here, on an overcast Wednesday afternoon.

Clara was an older woman with dark strawberry blonde hair. It was pulled back in an old-fashioned sort of way, and it almost matched the color of the teardrop earrings she sported. With piercing blue eyes and firmly set jaw, lips a thin, blood-red line, she had a sense of quiet intimidation about her. Emily wondered how long Clara had held this position, wondered if there were others who came before her. She could see herself as a young Clara, sitting here drinking tea, while some other older, faceless woman lectured her.

 _Now,_ Clara said at last, putting down her own teacup and saucer and straightening up some in her seat, legs now crossed at the ankles. _Since you have been made properly aware of what we expect of you, let's discuss the particulars of this job._

 

;;

 

The ad had been in the university newspaper, something about seeking out bright, interesting women for an exciting job opportunity. It had looked, to Emily, like the usual rubbish that people advertised for in university newspapers -- mostly put in there by pervs -- and though she was averse to the idea of calling, she did so anyway. She needed the money.

There was no need to bring along a C.V. to her interview, the man told her over the phone. There was little concern for that sort of thing, they were more interested in bringing on girls who possessed the personality traits they were looking for. Emily didn't bother to ask him what they were looking for. He had an effeminate tone to this voice and Emily could picture him sitting all prim and proper, his legs crossed neatly at the knee, sitting at a desk as he took down her details.

 _The rent's due,_ Effy told her as Emily came through the door of their shared flat. _Next Friday. And I'm not going to go blow the superintendent again for an extension, so don't bother asking._

Emily rolled her eyes. _Nice. Have you got your half?_

Effy held up a roll of notes.

_Where'd you get all that?_

_Where do you think?_ Effy raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Cook was a boy Effy knew who came around at least once a week, usually on weekends when Emily went to go visit her sister. She'd only met Cook a handful of times; from what she knew of him, he was a little rough around the edges, but generally likable enough. He was also the one who was always supplying Effy with the pills she sold to make the rent.

 _I'll get you the money,_ Emily told her, pausing in the doorway to her bedroom, just off the kitchen.

Effy shrugged, lighting up a spliff. _You said that last month. And then you came up short._ She took a long drag of the spliff before reaching into her bra and pulling out a small bag of pills. _You can sell some of these, if you like,_ she said, offering the bag to Emily.

Emily shook her head. _I'm not a dealer. And I don't need it._

_You found a new job?_

For three months Emily had worked at the university pub. The pay had been fine, but she'd got bored so easily with the day to day tasks, and her evenings had been filled with rowdy students and boys who found it absolutely acceptable to leer at her and make filthy comments. As if being drunk was an excuse for acting like a complete arsehole. It was just too much; she weathered it out for as long as she could stand it, before turning in her resignation.

She suspected that she was not very much missed.

Emily said, _Got an interview coming up, next Wednesday._

Effy looked marvellously unimpressed.

_I'll have the money. Don't worry._

_Whatever._ Effy shrugged, put the little bag of drugs back into her bra. She took another long, slow drag of her spliff, as she slouched back down on the couch. Emily watched a chain of smoke rings rise into the air as Effy exhaled. _Let me know if you want to sell anything. I don't mind sharing; there's too much here for me anyway._

 

;;

 

Each girl had a driver.

Emily's knocked on her door a little after six o'clock on the evening of her first assignment; she was still in the midst of getting dressed when he arrived, and she had ushered him inside the tiny flat to wait while she finished up. He was a good foot or so taller than Emily, with tan skin and a floppy brown fringe that was brushed neatly to the side. He wore a plain black suit with a cream colored shirt and charcoal tie. His name, apparently, was Freddie; he told Emily so through the door, as she fixed her hair in the mirror.

The lingerie, it seemed, would be provided upon arrival to the job site. It made Emily nervous; even though Clara had discussed what sort of things would be expected of her, she'd only given Emily a general overview of how each assignment would work. Emily didn't like not knowing what to expect and she checked herself thrice over just to make sure she looked okay.

Effy, thankfully, had not been around all evening, as Emily would not have been able to bear Effy's sly questions and knowing looks.

 _Are you going to pick me up for every job, then?_ Emily asked as she slid into the backseat of the car.

Freddie met her eyes in the rear-view mirror as he started the car, the engine turning over, springing to life. _Yes,_ he said, pulling out into the seat while Emily fastened her seat belt, pressing her hands down the front of her skirt and smoothing out invisible wrinkles. _It's best for the girls to have a driver._

Emily didn't bother to ask why exactly this was so -- if there was one thing she had quickly learned as far as this job was concerned, it was that an awful lot was clouded in secrecy and no amount of questioning would produce answers. As Clara had told her, it was not Emily's place to consider the ins and outs of the job, but rather, to do exactly what was requested of her. No more, no less. Why things did or did not happen should not be of any concern to her. It was something that unnerved Emily quite a bit, but she tried not to let it bother her; after all, she needed the money, and she wasn't about to turn down two hundred and fifty pounds an hour just because the company enjoyed its rules and privacy a little too much.

After an hour or so of driving, they finally arrived at the job site; it was an old Victorian house, with a sweeping lawn and large stone walkway. Emily had not seen a house like this before and was wholly impressed by it; she stared up at the house as she stepped out of the car, Freddie opening the door for her. Bright light crept through the curtains on the ground floor windows and Emily could hear the faint sounds of people inside, bustling about.

She thanked Freddie, who tipped his hat at her and told her he would return later that evening to bring her back home.

Inside, Emily was directed to a back room, where the girls were to gather before they were needed. Emily wandered down the hall towards the room, hesitantly pushing the door open and then breathing a sigh of relief when she realized the room was empty. She was early, it seemed; she settled down into one of the chairs across the room from the door, wondering how long it would be until other girls had arrived.

As if on cue, the door opened and a tall, blonde woman, perhaps only a few years older than herself, Emily thought, stepped into the room.

 _Who are you?_ the woman asked unceremoniously as the door closed behind her. She took off her coat and draped it over a high-backed chair. She stared at Emily, her gaze unwavering; she had the most striking blue eyes that Emily had ever seen. The color was a soft grey-blue, like dove feathers, but there was a coldness to them as well, and Emily looked away, uncomfortable.

Emily licked her lips, sitting down in the chair the girl offered to her with a slight gesture of her hand. The girl settled down in a chair a few feet across from Emily. Her golden hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her fringe swept to the side. Emily felt strangely under-dressed next to this girl, who looked elegant even in a plain dark navy skirt and a cream-colored blouse.

 _I'm Emily_ , Emily said.

 _I haven't seen you here before._ The girl looked her up and down, as if sizing her up. She toyed with her necklace; Emily's eyes were drawn to the plunging neckline of the girl's blouse, the pale, exposed skin there. _Are you new?_

 _Yes_ , Emily told her. _I was just brought on last week. This is my first job._

_Are you scared?_

Emily frowned. _Should I be?_

The girl shrugged. _I don't know. It depends, I guess, on your disposition._ She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. Her skirt was short enough to see right up it, her legs bare and pale in the soft light of the parlour room. _Some girls have been scared before; they find the unknown frightening. But other girls don't care either way._ She paused, as if considering something. Then, _What type of girl are you?_

 _I-I'm not sure,_ Emily said. She felt more nervous talking to this girl, being questioned in such a way, than she'd felt before. More nervous than she felt about going into a job like this blind. _A little of both, maybe. And curious, too,_ she added after a moment.

 _Curious?_ The girl folded her hands in her lap. _Curiosity isn't a good quality to have. Not with this job, this particular . . . profession._

Emily blushed a little. _Oh. Well._

The girl's expression didn't change. _It's not nessecarily a bad thing, as long as you don't let it get the best of you. Ah,_ she said, as the parlour door swung open and another, older girl stepped into the room. _It looks like we're wanted now._

 _Wait,_ Emily murmured, as they stood up. _Is it okay to ask -- I mean, I don't know your name._

The girl looked at her, the corner of her mouth turning up into the faintest of smiles. _Naomi_ , she said. _You can call me Naomi._

 

;;

 

_You're late._

Katie never seemed to greet Emily with a _hello_ , it seemed, she always felt the need to comment on someone's tardiness or what bus they'd taken or what they were wearing. Just like their mother; Emily could very well imagine Katie growing up to be an almost exact replication of their mum, right down to the pursed lips and disapproving looks. She sighed and slid down into the empty seat across from her sister.

Emily shrugged off her coat. _Hi, Katie._ She'd had to walk the two blocks between the nearest bus stop and Cosy's, and in the time it had started to rain. Not heavily, thankfully, but enough so that her fringe stuck wetly to her forehead; she brushed it back with her fingers and watched Katie sip her coffee.

 _Mum wanted to come to lunch with us today,_ Katie informed her, _but I told her no._

 _Thanks,_ Emily muttered, picking at a little chip marring the surface of their faux-wood table. She and her mother had never really been close -- not so much as Katie'd been, anyway -- and as she'd grown older, Emily had found the silences between them to be more and more unbearable. She knew she would never be the kind of girl her mother wanted her to be, so in the end, she'd just stopped trying.

She said, _I'll be right back,_ and stood up, shoving her hands into her jumper pockets and moving towards the counter. She ordered herself a coffee -- black, with two sugars; it was how Effy drank it and had turned into a habit -- and after returning to her table, uncapped it and blew on it gently to cool it down.

Katie said, _So, what have you been doing in London? Aside from forgetting about me. I haven't heard a bloody thing from you in months; would it kill you to send a sodding text once in a while?_ she took a long swallow of her coffee, shaking her head. _Christ._

 _Sorry._ Emily held her cup in both hands, staring down at it. _I haven't been doing anything,_ she said. _Just busy with schoolwork._

Katie didn't look like she believed Emily for a minute, but they both knew Katie wasn't going to press for the truth; she didn't want to hear it, and even if she did, Emily would lie anyway. Besides, it wasn't like she could tell anyone about her new employment -- what could she say? She served men dinner in lingerie, then lounged about with them later if they wanted companionship. It wasn't nearly as terrible as it sounded, Emily knew, but Katie would throw a fit if she found out about it.

 _Still not over the whole gay thing, are you?_ Katie asked, after a few minutes of heavy silence.

Emily stirred her coffee. _Afraid not,_ she said, and thought of Naomi.

They had parted ways after their first evening together, but Emily hadn't stopped thinking about her. She'd been shy when she'd undressed for her first evening, blushing as she'd changed into the lingerie that the company had provided for her. Naomi had put a hand on her wrist and told her to relax.

 _Don't worry,_ she'd said. _It isn't so bad; you get used to it._

The feeling of Naomi's fingers on her skin had lingered long after Naomi had withdrawn her hand; it had been one of the most delicate touches Emily had ever known. She found Naomi's demureness intriguing and wondered if it was genuine; it was, to Emily, quite strange, the way she felt more than knew that Naomi was made for different sorts of things than this.

 _Don't tell Mum,_ Katie warned, reaching into her purse for a package of cigarettes, tapping her lighter nervously on the table. Emily couldn't endure the tapping sound, suggested they go outside. Katie nodded; she thankfully tapped out a fag for Emily once they were out the door, lighting up in one swift, fluid motion. _Mum's got her heart set right now on you meeting some posh London boy and settling down with him, all proper-like._

Emily exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke, watching the little rivulets of rainwater running along the kerb. _Right. Well, I'd hate to disappoint, wouldn't I?_

 _Christ._ Katie inhaled sharply. _Don't start with that. You know Mum only wants what's best for you._

 _What's best for_ her _,_ Emily corrected her.

Katie frowned, tapping her cigarette. Her nails were painted an annoyingly bright shade of purple; Emily looked down at her own nails, plain and cut short. They seemed all at once inadequate and superior. _It isn't all about you, you know,_ Katie told her. _It's not easy having to deal with Mum on my own; she worries about you. What am I supposed to tell her?_

Emily exhaled slowly, watching a couple under an umbrella walking across the street. _Why don't you tell her to fuck off?_

 

;;

 

The dinners became routine, after a time.

Emily found herself getting into a kind of rhythm and often times she was doing little more than just going through the motions when it came to performing her tasks. There was a sort of mundanity to this job, oddly enough, and she both welcomed and hated it. Every dinner party was the same as the one that came before it, with little to differentiate between them. It was only once in a while when something happened that made the evening stand out more than the others.

On one such evening, they had just finished with dinner, the guests moving to the parlour; some of the men broke off into groups talking quietly, others sat by themselves, smoking and drinking. Girls lounged on the armrests of chairs or on men's laps. Some of them stood around with trays, offering snifters of brandy or tall glasses of champagne. Emily spotted one of the younger men sitting alone in one corner of the room, nursing a drink and smoking a thin cigarette.

He looked too young, almost, to be here with all these wealthy older gentlemen, even if he wore the same expensive clothes as them and seemed to fit right in. Emily did not think he was even twenty-five, if that. She wondered how someone so young could be invited to an evening such as this and thought perhaps he may have been related to one of the older men here.

She crossed the room, sliding down onto the armrest of the chair the man was sitting in; his arm was immediately around her, pulling her in in a show of ownership. Or, perhaps, protection. He did not speak and Emily did not offer any form of conversation; she let her arm fall around his shoulders. The man had loosened his tie, had draped his evening jacket over a nearby footstool.

Emily didn't know how long they sat there in silence, though twice she lit a new cigarette for him. He exhaled streams of blue-grey smoke, swirled the contents of his glass. Emily watched the tip of the cigarette glow red-gold in the dim light of the room, listened to the faint burning of paper every time the man inhaled.

When at last he stood, Emily stood as well. He took his brandy with him as he led them both out of the dining room and to a back room. Emily had seen other girls go into these rooms before, though she had never gone herself. Until now, anyway.

He kissed her neck, her cheek, her shoulders. But he did not kiss her mouth; that was not allowed; it was too intimate a gesture. He drew his fingers over the tops of her breasts, along thighs, across her stomach. They both knew he was hard, but he did not open his trousers and neither did she. That was not what this was about. After a while he ceased his caresses and led them over to a small couch tucked against one wall.

Emily sat down. The man laid down, putting his head in her lap. Emily combed her fingers gently through his hair, brushing it back away from his face. He had beautiful dark hair; Emily admired the softness of it, the way the soft light reflected off of it, making it look more black than the dark russet color that it was.

 _What's your name?_ she found herself asking, because it seemed so strange to sit like this alone, in silence.

The man, though he really was more of a boy, he couldn't have been much older than her, smiled. _I don't think you're supposed to ask that,_ he said, as he sat up and reached for his glass, taking a sip of brandy. _But because you are so lovely, I'll indulge you: Anthony. Sometimes Tony._

_Is that what your mates used to call you?_

_Yes._ Tony ran a hand through his hair, before standing up. _But I'd prefer if you called me nothing at all. We are, after all, supposed to be complete strangers._

Emily said, _Are we not still?_

Tony grinned. _Very true._ He tossed back the rest of his drink, set his glass down on the table. Emily reached for it, wiping away the wet ring left behind on the mahogany surface. _I think I'm going to retire for the evening,_ he said, fixing his tie and reaching for his jacket. _Thank you for entertaining me._

 _It was my pleasure,_ Emily said, demurely, as she stood as well. _Please have a good night._

 

;;

 

 _So, what do you do?_ Naomi asked, toying idly with the sash of her bathrobe.

Often in the late evening after the men had left, the girls stayed behind, wrapping themselves up in the silk bathrobes that came with their lingerie, settling themselves down in the ladies' dressing room for a drink. Tonight, Emily had lingered longer than usual, nursing an Irish coffee, waiting for all the other girls to leave and hoping that for once she could have Naomi to herself.

They had barely exchanged more than a dozen words or so since their first encounter -- most of what was between them was a nod or a slight smile or a hand laid tentatively on a shoulder, a wrist, a goodbye until next time. And yet, Emily found herself drawn to Naomi and she was, in fact, the one thing that stood out the clearest in Emily's mind amidst the blur of endless dinner parties and nameless, faceless men.

Emily looked up from her coffee cup. _Sorry?_

 _Outside of this,_ Naomi clarified, swirling the contents of her glass. G and T, on the rocks. The ice clinked softly against the glass.

_Oh. I'm a university student._

Naomi didn't ask what she was reading in. _Where are you from?_ she asked, taking a sip of her drink and settling back in her chair. _I can't place the accent._

_Bristol._

Naomi smiled at her, shifting in her seat and crossing her legs. _You didn't like it there, did you? I can tell from your tone._

 _I don't know,_ Emily said, looking down at her hands. _I mean, no, not really._ She looked back up, meeting Naomi's eyes. _Are you a Londoner?_

 _Not always._ Naomi told her, looking down into her drink before finishing it off. She leaned forward and set it down on the little table resting between them. She sat back. _That is to say, I haven't lived here my whole life. I came here for university, like you._

Emily nodded. Naomi's robe had opened up some, the material falling away, and Emily could see the distinct curve of Naomi's breast. She had seen Naomi in lingerie before, but this, somehow, was entirely different; she got an odd thrill from the sight and had to look away, examining a small tear in the arm of her chair as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Later, she would press her hand down between her thighs and stroke with her fingers until she was trembling and flushed, the sheets sticking to her skin, gripping the side of the bed so hard that her hand felt sore and stiff when she finally let go. Emily could imagine drawing her tongue along the underside of Naomi's breast, could feel the gentle arc of her calf beneath her fingertips.

It seemed strange to her how much these small things excited her.

Now, though, she licked her lips, standing up as she finished her drink and excused herself for the evening.

 

;;

 

She invited Naomi over to her flat one evening, when she knew Effy would be out. Emily didn't know if girls were allowed to socialize outside of assignments; neither Clara nor any of the girls had ever mentioned it, and when Emily suggested it, Naomi didn't raise any objections. Emily was a little surprised that Naomi was so agreeable to the suggestion.

 _Oh, twins,_ Naomi said, as she stood by Emily's bookcase, examining one of the photos of Emily and Katie that sat on the top of it. She held the photo in her hands, squinting at it in the dull light of Emily's bedroom. _I didn't know._

Emily, coming in from the kitchen, shrugged. _Well, you didn't ask._ She handed Naomi a glass of wine.

It felt so strange having Naomi standing in her flat, dressed in the most ordinary, plain clothes -- a checkered button down shirt, jeans, and plimsolls. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, her face devoid of any makeup. She looked much younger now than she ever had before -- different, too. She looked just like a regular girl, Emily thought. Like she could have been anyone.

It was altogether comforting and startling.

Naomi smiled, taking a sip of her drink. _Tell me about her, your sister. I'm trying to imagine what she would be like._ She paused, her eyes flitting down to the photo again before placing it back on the shelf. _I suspect she's not much like you or else you would have mentioned her by now. And you probably wouldn't have left her for London._

 _That's quite presumptuous of you, don't you think?_ Emily sat down the edge of the bed, taking a drink of her wine and meeting Naomi's eyes over the top of her glass. _Perhaps I just desired some individuality._

_No, I don't think so. I think you probably hate her._

Emily took another drink of wine and got up, plucking the photograph from Naomi's hands and putting it back down on the bookcase. She put her glass down in front of it, turning back around to face Naomi, leaning against the wall. _Hate is a strong word,_ she said.

The answer seemed to amuse Naomi. _But the sentiment is correct, isn't it?_ she asked. She sounded like she already knew the answer and she grinned as she downed half her drink. _Go on._

 _I visit her every weekend,_ Emily said.

 _Mm._ Naomi nodded, still grinning.

Emily found herself annoyed by the conversation; Naomi didn't even know the first thing about her. _What do you know about it?_ she snapped at Naomi, rolling her eyes and pushing herself off the wall. She grabbed her wine glass, crossing her room to stand by the window, glaring at the rain outside.

There was a long silence and then Naomi sighed. Emily heard the slight _clink_ as she set down her glass on top of the bookcase and turned around as Naomi walked over to her.

 _Alright,_ she said, reaching forward and fixing the collar on Emily's polo shirt. There was such a soft look on her face, and it was an oddly intimate act; Emily felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks and cleared her throat as Naomi's hands fell away. _We don't need to talk about things,_ she told Emily. _We can just . . . be like this._

 _Yeah,_ Emily agreed. _Okay._

Naomi looked about to say something, but instead she turned her head, looking out the window. Up from the streets rose the distant sounds of the playful shouting of teens, the purr of engines as cars drove by, the quiet patter of rain against the window. It felt like a very long time before Naomi moved her hand up, reaching forward to brush her fingers along the curve of Emily's jaw.

She said, _I've been wanting to do this for a while now._

Emily didn't really need to ask, but she felt compelled to. _Do what?_

Naomi smiled, and kissed her.

 

;;

 

Emily had, unreasonably or not, expected Naomi to be rougher.

But she touched Emily lightly, delicately, as if she was afraid of breaking her. As if Emily was made of glass. She pressed her lips to the hollow spot at the base of Emily's throat, kissed the swell of her breast, drew her tongue down the flat plane of Emily's stomach. Her fingers danced along Emily's hip, then down by her knee, then on the top of her thigh; Emily twisted on the bed against Naomi's touch, full of desperate want.

Naomi was exquisite. Her touch was deft, her tongue was quick, her hair was soft between Emily's fingers when she tangled her hands in it, arching up.

She fell asleep with the sheets half on her, while Naomi kissed her face and draped one leg loosely around Emily's waist, drawing her in. When she woke, later, it had stopped raining and the moon had come up. Naomi was gone as well; there was no note, no goodbye, only the scent of her vanilla soap lingered in the air. Emily shivered in the cool air, pulled the sheets around her, and got up to close the window.

Outside her bedroom, she found Effy lying asleep on the couch; Emily picked up the empty cans of Foster's off the coffee table and brought them into the kitchen, rinsing them out in the sink before depositing them into the recycling container. It didn't seem as though Naomi had been here only hours earlier. Emily wondered if Naomi had slept at all, or if she'd just slipped out of bed the second Emily had fallen asleep.

She wasn't entirely certain which scenario she preferred.

 

;;

 

How strange it was, this desperate desire for conversation. There was so little to say though, nothing to speak about. When Naomi sat up in bed, lighting a cigarette, Emily sighed and reaching forward, put her hand on Naomi's back. Bare skin against bare skin. She drew her fingers down the length of Naomi's spine, traced around to the slight curve of her hip.

She had always longed for a quiet like this, the kind of silence that she had never had growing up. Before, she thought, she would have been content to lie here like this, silent and still. But now she was not; now she longed for even the briefest of sentences.

 _I think it's going to rain out tonight_ , Naomi said. Thankfully.

Emily let her hand fall back down onto the bed. _Oh. I like the rain._

She could hear it now, the soft pattering of raindrops outside, splashing against her windows. She had always had an idea -- a daydream -- of kissing a pretty girl in the rain. In her mind, they are walking hand-in-hand in the street; the rain takes them by surprise and they try to run, but soon give up, laughing. Their lips meet and their mouths open and they kiss. Like in the movies, but better.

She considered telling Naomi about this, then quickly discarded the thought. It is the type of thing that schoolgirls dream about, Hollywood kisses and swelling music and warm rain that drips down cheeks, off noses and lips. Naomi would laugh, probably, if she were to even think anything at all about it. Emily did not want to feel that swell of embarrassment that comes with admitting something fanciful that is not well-received. She did not want to feel that twinge of disappointment, shame.

 _When do you have to be gone by?_ she asked, as she stretched out cat-like on the bed with a sigh.

Naomi shrugged, ran her fingers through her hair. Only a stub of her cigarette remained now; she stood, striding across the room to the small window. Emily watched her flick what was left of her fag outside, imagining it tumbling slowly to the ground below. She sighed again as a cool breeze came through the open window, bringing with it the sweet smell of early summer air. It was a damp sort of breeze, carrying with it the promise of rain.

After a moment, Naomi moved away from the window, coming back to bed. She slipped under the sheets and put her mouth against Emily's shoulder, kissing it. Her hand came up to cup Emily's breast, thumb stroking lightly for a few seconds at the nipple that hardened under her touch, before flitting away, settling between her thighs.

Emily groaned, flexing into her hand. _Please,_ she murmured languidly, a hand going up to Naomi's cheek, cupping it. It was not a desperate request, so Naomi did not rush, working her fingers at a leisurely pace that provided Emily with a pleasant buzz, if not complete satisfaction.

 _My assignment tonight is for nine o'clock,_ Naomi said.

 _Where?_ Emily put her hand on Naomi's wrist encouragingly.

Naomi once more kissed her shoulder. _Not far. Just on the other side of town. Ah, you're lovely,_ she remarked, stopping her ministrations all together and shifting until she was hovering over Emily. She bent her head and kissed the space between Emily's breasts, the hollow spot on her throat. She kissed Emily once on the lips, light as air, before she made her way back down again, hooking one of Emily's legs over her shoulder.

 _Am I your first lover?_ she asked, as she pressed a kiss to Emily's stomach, just above the patch of dark, wiry hair.

Emily shivered, gripping the sheets with one loose fist, the other moving forward and brushing Naomi's fringe out of her eyes. _No,_ she said, as Naomi kissed the juncture between her thigh and hip. _No, you're not. There have been other girls. Only a few._

 _And did you love them?_ Naomi's mouth moved inward.

 _Oh!_ Emily gripped the sheets a bit tighter, tangled in Naomi's hair. _Yes,_ she sighed, pushing up into Naomi's mouth. Then, _Sometimes -- maybe -- I don't know. How much does teenage love count for?_ she groaned, as Naomi gripped her thigh and moved her tongue with agonizing slowness. _I was so young then; I think I could have probably fallen in love with anyone._

 _And what about me?_ Naomi asked a little while later, as she climbed out of bed and began to dress to leave.

Emily watched Naomi pull her knickers back up along impossibly long legs, and felt a renewed spark of desire at the sight. She thought about pulling Naomi back into bed, as Naomi reached for her bra on the chair beside the bed. Her fingers twitched as she imagined drawing her hand between Naomi's thighs; if she licked her lips now she could still taste the faintest trace of Naomi on them.

She said, _What_ about _you?_

 _Do you love me?_ Naomi clarified as she buttoned up her blouse, slipping her feet into her faded yellow plimsolls.

Did she? Emily wondered. She'd never before been asked by someone if she loved them. _How can I love you?_ she asked Naomi, sitting up in bed and leaning against the headboard. _I don't know anything about you. We are, after all,_ she said, recalling her evening with the young gentleman named Tony, _supposed to be complete strangers._

Naomi smiled. _How very true,_ she agreed, shrugging on her coat. _We are, aren't we?_

 

;;

 

Clara smiled. _I have high expectations for you, Miss Fitch. You have shown great promise here in only a few week's time._ She paused to pour herself another cup of tea. _Clients are quite fond of you; they enjoy your natural shyness. It's not a façade like some girls like to put on._

 _Thank you._ Emily stirred her tea idly. She had always hated that she was shy. All of her life she'd deferred to Katie, let Katie take the lead; she had played the part of Katie's shadow all her life, even through college. She had hated herself for it, but she hadn't known any way to change.

There was a pause and then Clara said, _Miss Campbell is quite fond of you too. Isn't she?_ She asked it in such a blasé way that it made Emily uneasy. She wondered if Clara actually knew about the little affair she and Naomi were carrying on or if she was just trying to force a reaction out of Emily.

Emily looked down at her hands. _I-I don't know,_ she said slowly. Carefully. _I suppose so. Yes._

Clara's expression remained unchanged, hands folded in her lap. _I do not care what it is you do outside of work,_ she said to Emily, in a matter-of-fact tone. _Your life is your own. But I must make it clear that you are still held to the same standards as always; if it seems as though you cannot do your job properly because of interferences from your personal life, then you will be dismissed. Is that understood?_

 _Yes._ Emily told her. _It won't be a problem._

_Good._

Emily didn't mind sharing Naomi with the male clients, after all, the affections she bestowed upon them were purely artificial, a part to be played. There were smiles and soft words and even softer touches that Naomi reserved for Emily only; it didn't bother Emily when the men put their hands on Naomi, when they kissed her shoulders. Had they been other girls, somewhere else, Emily knew that she would not have been able to control her jealousy.

(As it was, there were times, later, when Emily would ball her hands into fists so tight that her nails dug sharply into her palms.)

 _Who's that?_ Emily asked one evening, glancing across the room as a bright-eyed, blond-haired eyed girl that she'd seen only once before, sitting in the foyer outside Clara's office. Emily had locked eyes with the girl and given her a polite smile, but the girl had just looked right through her, as if Emily wasn't even there.

Naomi followed her gaze. _Oh,_ she said flatly. _That's Minerva. Everyone calls her 'Mini;' I guess it's meant to be cute. She's the youngest one in the company, didn't even bother with college._

Emily was surprised by Naomi's tone of voice. _Don't you like her?_

 _She doesn't belong here,_ Naomi explained, as they watched Mini engage an older patron in quiet conversation. _She's so young; she hasn't lived at all. She just doesn't fit in with the rest of us. The men love her._

 _Are you jealous?_ Emily teased gently. _Do you wish it was you instead of her?_

Naomi frowned, looked away. _I don't care what the men think of me,_ she said.

 

;;

 

Emily said, _We know so awfully little about each other, don't we?_

Naomi, lying beside her on the bed, stifled a yawn, fingers twirling a strand of golden hair into loose curls. _Does it bother you?_

They were in Emily's flat on a cool November morning. The sun was just beginning to creep up into the sky; they had spent the night drifting in and out of sleep, making love sometimes aggressively, other times slowly. Emily had kissed the sharp angle of Naomi's hipbone as they'd rolled together on the bed, tangled up in the sheets.

Everything came so easily to them.

 _I'm not sure._ She stroked her fingers along the curve of Naomi's hip, bowing to kiss the same space of skin. _I've never had a lover like you before._

Naomi rolled onto her back, taking Emily's hand in her own and guiding it down between her legs. Emily flexed her fingers, not very much in the mood for another round, but getting a light thrill from her lazy stroking anyway. _Is that all I am?_ Naomi sighed, hips twitching as Emily's forefinger brushed against a delicate spot. _A lover?_

Emily said, _I didn't know if you could be anything more than that._

Later, sitting by the window, the sheets around her waist, Naomi lit up a cigarette. She watched the rain fall and Emily watched her, leaning against the door frame and wearing an over-sized men's shirt and knickers. Emily liked these little moments between them best and there were thousands of them: a glance across a room; a hand on her wrist; lips brushing against lips; a cigarette passed back and forth; falling asleep to the faint smell of perfume and soap and sweat.

 _I was wondering,_ Naomi said, after some time. _What happened to those other girls?_

Emily said, _They didn't work out._

_Why not?_

It was a question that had no answer. There had been only a few girls before Naomi and Emily had, truthfully, loved them all. Somehow, though, that love had never seemed like enough, as though even in their completeness, they were incomplete. _They just didn't,_ Emily said, striding across the room to her bookcase and picking up the picture of herself and Katie from when they were younger.

They had always been best friends growing up. And then things had changed. Emily didn't know when things first began to change, she only knew that they had, and then suddenly, it was like she and her sister were strangers. All because Emily fancied girls instead of boys. It had never been a fact that Emily had ever been sincerely sorry about, but sometimes she wondered if the reason why none of her relationships had ever worked out was because of Katie.

Sometimes she wanted so very badly to be the girl their mum wished she could be, if only she could have her sister back. She wanted to return to the days when there were never awkward silences between them, when they always knew just what to say to each other. When they whispered secrets and traded gossip and blushed over boys. Emily's homosexuality stood like a wall between them; there was no going back, not now, not ever.

Things had changed. They always did.

But still, now, she thought, it had been because of Katie that she'd felt that incompleteness.

Naomi was quiet for a little while. _Well, maybe you just never tried hard enough for anything more,_ she said finally, crushing her cigarette out on the little glass ashtray she'd brought over to the window sill.

Emily traced her fingers over the photograph, put it back on the shelf. _I've tried._

 

;;

 

 _I have a proposition for you,_ Clara said.

She'd called a few days after Emily's last meeting with her, right in the middle of Emily responding to a text from Katie ( _wnt 2 met up this wknd??_ ; apparently her sister's lifetime achievement was going to be the single-handed destruction of the English language). Emily wondered why Clara was calling her, since it was usually Clara's assistant who made calls to the girls. But Emily had answered anyway, just after the third ring, right before it went to voicemail, and Clara had asked her to come in for another meeting.

Emily had been a bit worried about what it was Clara wanted to discuss with her. She was certain that she'd convinced Clara she could be professional, as far as her relationship with Naomi was concerned. Perhaps, though, Clara had doubts. The first discussion regarding Emily's relationship had been awkward, and Emily dreaded having to re-live the moment.

 _You don't have to accept my offer, of course,_ Clara said, as one of her maids arrived with tea. She paused to pour out a cup for herself and Emily, spooning in two measurements of sugar. She sat back in her chair, sipping delicately at her tea. _But I think you are more than suitable for the job._

Emily blew on her tea. _What does it entail?_

 _You won't be working with other girls from now on,_ Clara said. _These are solo assignments. Normally we wouldn't promote a girl with as little experience as yourself, but it is my personal opinion that, given your excellence with the company so far, you will do just fine._

Emily waited, took a sip of tea.

Clara paused for a moment, perhaps for dramatic effect, then continued. _The girls that perform these assignments, we call them 'sleeping beauties.'_

 

;;

 

She didn't see Naomi again.

She had thought that she would, but of course, she should have realized that once she accepted the sleeping beauty offer, she wouldn't have any more reason to see Naomi again. At least not in a professional sense; she had hoped, perhaps somewhat naively, that Naomi would seek her out even though they no longer shared the same sort of job. But Naomi hadn't called, not since the night after Emily's promotion; they'd fucked slowly, twisting the sheets up around them.

Naomi had disappeared in the morning like a dream.

Emily turned her mobile over and over in her hands. In a way, she was certain that if she only thought hard enough about it, she could conjure up Naomi's mobile number. She imagined her own phone pressed eagerly against her ear, waiting with bated breath for Naomi to pick up, with each long, shrill ring. In her mind, of course, Naomi would always pick up and their conversation would flow easily, instead of being marred by long silences. Emily wasn't entirely certain what she would say if she were to ring Naomi; perhaps, she thought, she would ask if they were ever going to see each other again.

(It was all a moot point; she didn't have Naomi's number. And Naomi didn't have hers.)

She had not considered, until now, how much of a constant in her life Naomi had become. They had only shared so many moments together, most of them only small slivers of time, but they had held such fine importance. Even now she could recall the touch of Naomi's hand on her wrist, the slight upturn of a smile on Naomi's face. Emily remembered them on that first evening, sitting in the dressing room, waiting for the others to arrive; she had been so alive then, in that moment, she thought. She'd wanted to kiss along the slope of Naomi's neck, across the exposed skin of her breasts.

At the time, of course, the moment had been of no spectacular importance, but now she could recall the encounter with vivid detail and longed to be able to go back to it. If even for a moment; she would trace her fingers along Naomi's knee and press slow, soft kisses against Naomi's lips.

 _Emily,_ Effy said. She appeared in the doorway, leaning against it. A boy a little taller than her, with roughly cut hair and a boyish grin, circled his arm around her waist territorially, putting his head on Effy's shoulder. _You alright?_

_Fine._

_You've been moping in here all day._ Effy's voice held a slight tone of amusement.

 _I'm not moping,_ Emily told her. She put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, letting her hands rest on her knees. _I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping well._

It wasn't much in the way of conversation, but it was the first time she'd spoken more than half a dozen words to Effy at a time. They'd never been close, of course, but there had always been a kind of unspoken connection between them, a sort of pleasantness that had slowly disappeared over the past months. Things had started to change after Emily had accepted Clara's first job offer, after Emily had met Naomi; she wasn't sure if either of those things had been the catalyst to the change in her relationship with Effy, but there they stood, silent milestones marking the difference between now and then.

 _Cook and I are going out,_ Effy said after a moment, in a bored tone. Emily assumed that the boy hanging onto Effy was the Cook that she was referring to. Emily hadn't ever seen him before, but that wasn't anything remarkable in and of itself; Effy brought lots of boys home. Effy continued, _We're gonna do some MDMA, get totally fucked up. Wanted to know if you were interested in joining us._

Emily shook her head, eyes still closed. _No. Thanks. Like I said, I'm tired. And I've got a bit of a headache going on._

 _Right._ Emily heard the click of Effy's heels on the floor as she turned and began to walk away.

And then, quickly, the thought came to her. She opened her eyes, sitting up straighter. _Hey, Effy?_ she called. _I'm moving out._

 

;;

 

It was so easy, going to sleep. There was always a glass of water and a small, aspirin-shaped pill waiting on a little tray on the nightstand beside the bed; Emily would take the pill before undressing, folding her clothes and setting them aside on a shelf tucked off to the side, built into the wall. She didn't know what sort of pill it was, but it worked wonders -- she never had to wait long after climbing into bed to fall asleep.

She liked to press her face against the sheets, breathing in the scent of washing powder; it always made her think of lying in the grass in her parent's garden with Katie. Emily had always liked these times with Katie best, when there was no yelling or fighting; it was just them and silence, as they gazed up at the clouds with mutual appreciation. How many times had she wished, in college, that they could go back to the times like that? Emily wondered if Katie remembered those moments or if they had got lost somewhere along the way, pushed aside by everything that had come later.

Always, odd as it were, it was Katie who dominated her thoughts before falling asleep. Emily found it strange how something as simple as slipping into bed like this could trigger old memories of the better times with her and her sister. There was something about the room, the softness of the lights and the coolness of the sheets against her bare skin that elicited nostalgia. It was all at once too simple and too complex for Emily to understand.

Her dreams, though, were something altogether different.

They were simple, ordinary dreams -- recollections of simple, ordinary moments. Quite often Emily dreamed of that night when she had put her hand against Naomi's back, trailing her fingers down the length of Naomi's spine, desperate for both silence and any sort of conversation at all. How sweet a moment that had been; the air had been thick with potential and Emily had felt filled with the idea of possibility.

She had loved Naomi in that moment, she was certain of it.

She didn't know if it was possible to pinpoint one moment in time when she did, unquestionably love Naomi, but this was the moment she chose. How elegant they had been in their simplicity and now Emily found in herself a kind of aching that she had never known before There was a kind of emptiness in her now; she felt herself drifting from day to day, never quite living but still, in fact, alive.

Emily had not known, before now, how deep an impact another human being could have on her life. Especially not a stranger, a girl that she hardly knew at all. A girl with soft, dove-feather eyes and blond hair that was the color of morning sunlight. They had only a handful of encounters that they could truly call their own, when they had stayed, uninterrupted in a moment together. And yet, still, Emily knew that it was love she'd felt when Naomi had pressed her cheek against Emily's hip and told her she was lovely.

It was love. It had to be.

There were other things she dreamt of too, lots of them things that had never happened: the two of them sitting on the edge of a lake, their legs dipped into the water; standing in Clara's foyer, having a conversation about the weather while waiting for their separate meetings; their eyes meeting across the street one day. Always, always she dreamed of Naomi; none other seemed to be in her thoughts.

Whatever the men did to her while she slept, Emily was unaware. She knew, from Clara, that there were certain things that could and would not be done to her, that she wouldn't come to any harm. Sometimes she woke up with an odd bruise or a soreness in her limbs that she had not previously had, but as the arraignments provided the utmost privacy to the clients, Clara never divulged any information about what had happened.

And Emily didn't ask. There was, of course, a morbid sort of curiosity that lingered inside her, but always she told herself that it was simply best not to wonder -- and even better to not even know at all. She was pleased with the money that her new position offered her and she wasn't about to do anything to sabotage that.

Still, she missed Naomi.

Despite herself, she did.

 

;;

 

 _Mum wants to know if you're going to come home after university lets out for the summer holiday,_ Katie said, cupping a hand around the end of her cigarette and lighter, shielding it from the wind. _I told her not to expect you to, seeing as you didn't come home for Christmas._

Emily exhaled a stream of smoke. _I don't know, Katie. Maybe. Tell her maybe._

 _For fuck's sake, Em,_ Katie sighed after several long minutes, dropping the ends of her cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the heel of her shoe. _What's been going on with you?_

Emily shrugged, looked down the street at a line of cars queued up at the light. _Nothing. I've just been busy with schooling. And I -- I met someone. It's complicated._

That seemed to interest Katie some. _Oh?_ she asked.

 _There's nothing to tell._ Emily said. She stared down at the ground, studying her shoes. There was a long black scuff mark along the white toe of her Converses. For a moment she recalled the image of Naomi sitting on her bed, tying her shoes, a cigarette held between her teeth. That was just after their first evening together. _It didn't work out._

 

;;

 

She thought she saw Naomi, once.

It very well could have been Naomi, she knew, but Emily had only seen her from far off and hadn't wanted to shout across Carnaby Street to get her attention. She'd only just spotted a bright flash of short blonde hair and a shirt that looked like the one Naomi had worn the first time they'd spent time together outside of work. Emily had tried to catch up with her, but she'd lost Naomi in the crowd. If it was Naomi at all.

They were strangers. Utter and absolute strangers. Even if they were to accidentally run across each other on the street, Emily told herself, what would come of it? They knew nothing of each other and now there wasn't even a commonality of their work to bind them together. It was, simply, this: whatever they had had, whatever they had shared, it had been something of the past. No more, no less.

So she let herself dream of Naomi when she was on engagements and left it at that. It was harmless enough. She never wished for anything more.

 

;;

 

 _Ah,_ Naomi said, glancing out the window as she buttoned up her shirt. _It looks like it's going to rain tonight._

Emily smiled and reached for Naomi, drawing her in and kissing her softly on the mouth. _That's okay,_ she said. _I like the rain._

She awoke slowly, as if she was settling back down into her body, suddenly becoming aware of the feeling of the mattress beneath her, the crooked position of the pillows under her head, the faint color of sunlight drifting through the curtains. Emily pushed herself up into a slight sitting position, brushing her fringe out of her eyes and pulling the sheets and blankets up around herself.

Reclining against the pillows, she ran a hand through her hair before stretching her arms up above her head with a sigh. There was something almost magical about the pills that were given to her to fall asleep,with the way she always felt so refreshed each morning, never groggy or still tired. She never had fitful dreams, either, always just one extended moment of pleasantness that she could vaguely recall for a few minutes upon waking.

After a little while longer, there was a knock on the bedroom door. _Are you awake?_ a voice asked. It was Clara; she was always the one who came to attend to the sleeping beauties after their evening engagements. Emily wondered if it was an act that was borne from a strange sense of guilt from knowing what had transpired the night before or if Clara was just genuinely concerned about their well-being and wanted to make them feel special.

 _Come in,_ Emily called, yawning once more as she pushed the covers off of her and sat at the edge of the bed, squinting as she turned towards to the windows, glancing out them as she listened to the sound of the bedroom door being unlocked.

 _Here,_ Clara said, coming into the room as she always did after an engagement, offering Emily a silk robe to cover herself up with. _Did you sleep well?_ she asked, as Emily stood up, slipping the robe on.

Emily nodded. _Very,_ she said.

Clara smiled. _There's tea outside,_ she said, gesturing towards the door. _I trust you had pleasant dreams?_ she asked, as Emily tied the robe around her waist and followed Clara out of the bedroom and into her office where the tea was waiting for them.

 _I always do,_ Emily told her, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes with a smile.


End file.
